


I'll go anywhere you want me

by armyofbees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Asexual Character, I promise, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Metaphors, Prostitution, kind of, some of these tags seem mutually exclusive but they aren't, there's just a lot of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lying on Dean’s chest after Dean’s fallen asleep (because Dean is tall, damn him), he can imagine. He can hear Dean’s heartbeat and feel Dean’s chest rise and fall, and he can pretend that that’s all there is. He can pretend that they’re just laying, together, and that’s all that’s happened.





	I'll go anywhere you want me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, um, I don't have a whole lot to say but the title is from [Mercury](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNUR0fOMpCs) by Sleeping At Last. I just recently got around to listening to the Atlas: Year One album, and I highly recommend it! That's all I got for you. Enjoy!

Castiel stumbles, propping himself against a nearby car. He’s drunk. Too drunk. Too open. Too obvious. Everything runs wild.

“Castiel,” Hannah tries, clasping his shoulder. He looks at her, shaking his head. “Castiel, please. We can talk about this? We’ll work through it?”

He just laughs. “Oh, leave it, Hannah. You know now—might as well shun me, or whatever it is you do to people like me.”

Hannah sighs sharply. “Castiel, we can work through this,” she repeats.

“‘We can work through this,’” Castiel parrots, shoving her away. “We don’t need to work through anything, Hannah.”

He continues his drunken shambling, and she just stands defeatedly in the street.

“Fine, Castiel!” she shouts. “Fine! I’ll—I’ll tell everyone!”

“Go right ahead!” he slurs back, and keeps walking.

Before long, he finds himself in the city, leaning against the wall of an alleyway. He lets out a long breath and puts his face in his hands. It’s funny how easily everything he knew could be thrown to the wind. It’s funny how fast all this had happened. It’s funny how he can feel the noose around his neck already, and he can’t bring himself to care. Lynched or not, he’s a dead man walking.

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” a low voice says.

Castiel looks up, pushing himself from the wall. At the mouth of the alley stands a young blond man. One with apple eyes and candy lips and a face from heaven.

“Relax,” the man says, sauntering into the alley, a smirk on his lips.

Castiel doesn’t relax, but he squints and says, “As a matter of fact, I could. Use a pick-me-up, that is.”

“Four hundred for the night, anything you want,” the man says, and then winks, “I’ll make it three for you.”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, finds he can’t. “What should I call you?” he says, eventually.

“Dean,” the man says, and Castiel lets himself be kissed roughly, once, twice, and led out of the alley. Dean tastes like cherries and whiskey.

In the morning, Dean leaves only a street name and a roiling feeling in the pit of Castiel’s stomach.

 

* * *

 

It becomes a habit. Dean becomes a habit.

Castiel (Cas, Dean calls him) brought him flowers once, and he laughed. “What’s this, sweetheart? Hoping that you’ll get out of paying for once?”

Cas wrinkled his nose. “You’d be out of a job, if not for me. It’s a luxury, and a gift. I went through a lot of trouble to get it, so just take it.” He’d held the flowers out adamantly and not looked at Dean.

“Trouble?” Dean asked skeptically, even as he took the flowers from Cas’ grasp and made a show of sniffing them.

“A friend of mine runs the shop,” Cas said, and didn’t elaborate. An ex-friend, thanks to Hannah.

Sometimes, when he’s lying on Dean’s chest after Dean’s fallen asleep (because Dean is _tall,_ damn him), he can imagine. He can hear Dean’s heartbeat and feel Dean’s chest rise and fall, and he can pretend that that’s all there is. He can pretend that they’re just laying, together, and that’s all that’s happened.

Sometimes, he wonders why he needs to think that. Needs, because otherwise he thinks he’ll be sick. Needs, because if he can imagine, he can see Dean again. Needs, because he needs Dean at this point, and he knows it’s not healthy, but then again, he’s never really cared for himself.

Still, he wonders. It wouldn’t change anything, right? It would still be romantic, but that isn’t the problem, is it? He’s so sure that he’s okay. He’s so sure that him and Dean, it’s right. They’re not the problem—he’s _fine with them._ He’s better than he was, when he hated himself for how he looked too long at his brothers’ friends, when he hated himself for being _himself._

But he still feels sick after, every time. He wants to know why, he doesn’t want to know—it doesn’t matter, really, because in the end, he knows that this _need_ of his is unrequited. In the end, Dean will leave. Because Dean’s not like him; Dean can find a pretty girl and settle down. And he’s _fine with that._

One day, Cas doesn’t show. He doesn’t know why. Well, that’s a lie, but he doesn’t want to say it to himself. He stays home, he reads, he makes himself a nice dinner. He doesn’t answer the phone. He doesn’t think of Dean (but that’s a lie, too. Liar, liar, liar.)

Dean shoves him, hard. “What the hell was that for?”

Cas can’t answer, because he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know what Dean will do if that’s what he says.

“You can’t just stand me up like I’m a ditchable prom date!” Dean says, hysterically.

“Dean, I missed one day!” Cas says. “It’s not like this is exactly a committed—what, relationship?”

“Yes, relationship,” Dean says, voice low. “Customer-consumer, or whatever the hell it is. I—”

“You what, Dean? You care about me? You _love_ me?” Cas scoffs, and if he was drawing from a little too close to home, so be it.

“I didn’t eat anything but leftover cereal for three days,” Dean whispers fiercely, and Cas stops.

“You _what?”_

“Pardon me if I’ve gotten used to a weekly paycheck,” Dean snaps. “It’s been months, and I’ve been—I’ve been able to live better. To save better.”

Cas knows that he’s slackjawed, that he’s staring. He can’t help it. “I—I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t be,” Dean says coldly. “I don’t need your pity. Just show next time.”

Cas nods helplessly.

 

* * *

 

Cas doesn’t miss any meetings with Dean, after that. He hates himself for that, and he won’t let himself. He’s sick sometimes, before he goes. He’s scared.

One night, he meets Dean at the hotel and collapses in bed immediately. He’s asleep before Dean can ask what the hell he’s doing. He pays for the full night, and it’s worth waking up to soft kisses in Dean’s arms.

His stomach drops when Dean asks, “What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, his voice wavering, but he does. He does, because it’s the third time that he’s fallen asleep before they can get so much as a kiss in, and Dean probably deserves answers, but Cas hasn’t got any for him.

“Bullshit.” Dean’s voice softens. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

Cas huffs. “You know, I’m not sure.”

“Well, what’s on your mind?” Dean asks, and kisses his neck.

Cas laughs, feels his stomach flutter, and turns to meet Dean’s eyes. If he's going to do this, he's going to be straightforward about it. “I… Ever since we met, I get this… I don’t know. Whenever we do this—” he gestures vaguely about the room “—I feel sick.” The look in Dean’s eyes shatters his heart. “It’s not you! You’re great. This is great. I can’t… I can’t imagine a better person to spend this time with than you.”

“Then what—”

“Dean,” Cas says firmly, “I’m gay. And I like you a lot. But I—I don’t want to sleep with you.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Those seem mutually exclusive.”

Cas scrubs at his eyes. “I know. I _know._ I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Dean takes his hand and kisses his forehead. “Hey, it’s okay. You know, as long as I get paid, do whatever you want. You’re probably fine, it’s fine.”

Cas nods and buries his face in Dean’s chest. He feels like crying, and Dean lets him sob in his arms.

 

* * *

 

He’s different, and he knows it, and now Dean does, too. Dean doesn’t say anything about it, just kisses him and holds him and treats him like always. He’s grateful.

He sometimes thinks that Dean hates him now, but then he’ll laugh or blush and Dean will stop talking just to run a hand along his cheekbone, and it’s okay.

Dean surprises him by being the one to bring flowers. Cas takes them and looks up at Dean in confusion. “Why?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I… I wanted to take you out. For real, this time, and not for money. And if you don’t want to, it’s—”

“Let’s do it,” Cas interrupts. “God, yes, let’s do it.”

Dean kisses him then, and Cas feels like he could fly. Dean tastes like cherries and whiskey and a little bit of danger, and Cas absolutely loves it.


End file.
